18 May 2012

True, there was so much to admire in Odisha.
Konark and Puri were magnificent and seeing them had been a dream come true. Nature
and some fascinating history (think Samrat Ashoka) too. But the general air of dirt, neglect and
backwardness were a bit overwhelming and diluted the delight. Being an NRI had
very little to do with it. Maybe, having grown up in a more developed part of
the subcontinent had more to do with it.

Whatever the reason, she wasn’t very sad to
leave Bhubaneshwar for the more cosmopolitan delights of Kolkata.

Now, she was at the train station trying to
keep pace with the wiry porter who would deposit her luggage at the right place
on the Kolkata train. An uncle, who could speak Oriya, but had to be next to the
Chennai train to upload other family members, had fixed the rate with the
porter and then told her, “You need to pay him Rs 30, and he will put you on
the Kolkata train, so just go with him.”

So she did. After what seemed to be a fairly
long time and distance traversing a few flights of stairs, they reached the
correct platform. The train to Kolkata originated at Puri and would reach
Bhubaneshwar station in a few minutes. But it would halt there for just about 5
to 10 minutes. So, feeling queasy at the thought of pushing her way into a
crowded train carriage, while jostling with all the others who wanted to do
exactly the same thing, she waited restlessly, walking up and down the platform.

The train thundered in shortly afterwards
and the porter was immediately at her side with the luggage. They started speed
walking towards her compartment. She hurriedly jumped in and started looking at
seat numbers. Horrors, her seat was already occupied. The porter had already
lowered her luggage to the ground.

Then she found out that this wasn’t the
correct compartment. Her one was still a few more bogies away. Bracing herself
for a verbal onslaught, she informed the porter (via broken Hindi and vigorous
gestures), that they had to search for her compartment as this wasn’t the right
one.

But there was no onslaught. He just picked
up the luggage and started walking at a furious pace. She understood that he
was almost as scared as she was that the train would depart any minute.

Thankfully, they reached her compartment - and
she found that her seat was vacant too. She heaved a sigh of relief. The porter
unloaded the luggage, propping it under her seat.

She opened her wallet and then paused briefly.
Rs 30 seemed too less to pay him, never mind what the uncle had said. The
platform had been a long way off. And any porter who didn’t grumble about a
wrong compartment and use that as a lever to higher earnings surely deserved more.
She pulled out all the small notes in her wallet, and it came to Rs 40. She
pushed the jumble of notes into his hand. He namaste’d her and went away.

She heaved a sigh of relief. No altercation
with the porter. She was in her right seat and Kolkata was only a night away.
She prepared to relax, waiting in anticipation.

But – the porter was back. He was waving the
wad of notes she had given him. What now, she wondered. He hadn’t asked for
anything, surely, he should be happy with she had paid him?

The
train tooted briefly and started inching its way out of Bhubaneshwar.

She didn’t know Oriya, that was true. But
she understood what the porter was saying anyway. “The rate we fixed was only
Rs 30, madam, you’ve given me ten more. Here is your Rs 10”.

Puri Jagannath,the Konark Sun temple and the power of ten - enduring thoughts that
would from now on epitomise the essence of Odisha for her.